P artridge Island 
rock. Many, many other marvels did the 
mighty Glooscap, friend of man, perform. 
The Indians are gone. They are no longer 
to be seen as of old on Minas' shore. They 
are almost as mythical at Parrsboro as is 
Glooscap himself; only their legends still 
linger about the rocks and coast they loved 
in days gone by. 
Once upon a time, and not so very long 
ago, Parrsboro was an important boat-building 
centre. At that time the town, what there 
was of it, was down by the shore where the 
Parrsboro House now stands. 
The pine-trees are gone, and Parrsboro's ship- 
yards have lost their prestige. Lumber still 
comes from the back country, and, such as it 
is, makes the wealth of the region, in conjunc- 
tion with that other timber which has been 
preserved in the depths of the earth and altered 
to form the valuable coal-beds of Springhill 
and neighbouring localities. 
" When the town was on the shore," was 
the halcyon period of Parrsboro. 
There is a hill a little back from the shore, 
and between this and the beach the old town 
stood. The terrace above the deep sea bowl 
